A Pirate's Heart
by Eve Hawke
Summary: Isabela is a rogue, a thief, a blackhearted wench with a penchant for loving and leaving - until she meets Anna Hawke. OTP, written as a gift for WhatComesToMind. A slightly AU short story, in three chapters. Rated M for implied intimacy and language. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This story is dedicated to WhatComesToMind, who requested a one-shot of her favorite OTP: Isabela and F!Hawke. I've taken a bit of liberty with the traditional Isabela storyline - this_ _is__ a bit AU_,_ but I hope you enjoy. :-) _

* * *

**A Pirate's Heart  
****Chapter 1**

Isabela pounded on the mansion door, her face arranged in an ugly snarl. The moon cast its midnight radiance on her dusky skin, her normally warm brown eyes colder than death as she waited for entry to the Amell manor.

"Hawke!" she bellowed. "I know you're in there!"

The door cracked, and Bodahn, Hawke's manservant, peeped through the sliver of opening. "Messere, perhaps you should come back at another hour."

"Out of my way, little man," Isabela snapped, pushing him aside as she bulled through the door.

Bodahn scurried as Isabela stormed through the Amell manor. The pirate did _not_ look happy, and Bodahn hastened after her as she took the stairs two at a time.

"Messere, perhaps you should come back at another hour-"

"She's here, Bodahn, and if you stand in my way, so help me I'll cut you into ribbons."

"Allow me to fetch her for you," the dwarf gasped, fleeing Isabela's wrath.

The pirate woman slowed, contenting herself with pacing the hallway as Bodahn disappeared into Hawke's bedchamber. From within, she could hear Hawke's low, pleasant alto, offset by the frantic tenor of her dwarven manservant. Isabela snickered to herself; evidently, she'd really scared him.

The door cracked, and she heard Hawke's voice. "Tell her I'll be out shortly, if she'll just calm down and-"

"Calm down!" Isabela raged. "Move, Bodahn!" She shoved past the poor dwarf, who'd gone white to the gills and looked as if he might faint at any moment. He stumbled back, one hand gripping the wooden door as Isabela stomped into Hawke's bedroom. The door shut with a soft click, closing Bodahn out of the room even as it closed the two women in.

Hawke perched on the bed, wearing the ridiculous mauve house robe she'd favored since gaining her noble status. She stretched, her pert breasts straining against the satin fabric, a smug smile on her delicate face. "Come to play, pet?"

"You." A lazy grin stretched the pirate woman's mouth, eyes flickering with mirth. "You are a wicked, wicked woman."

"And you love it," Hawke chuckled, rolling sinuously to her feet. Isabela grinned, one hip lazing to the side as she sidled forward, sighing with contentment to feel her lover's body press against her own at last.

"That ought to convince Bodahn not to interrupt us..." Isabela murmured, laying a soft kiss on Hawke's neck.

"I told you it was a good idea... Miss me?" Hawke purred, her hands settling at the juncture of Isabela's waist. Silken as a sigh, Hawke's lips glided the length of Isabela's jaw, drawing a guttering breath from the scantily-clad pirate.

"Heaps... it's been a day," Isabela sighed, melting into the woman she'd been spending more nights with than she cared to think about. No commitments, she'd told Hawke... just a bit of girly fun. What was wrong with that? People were unreliable, unpredictable, and Isabela herself was the greatest example of those things. She reveled in her own spontaneity. If you couldn't trust yourself, it just proved how little you could trust anyone. Either way, the world kept spinning, and in the end, the winners took all.

"Hungry?" Hawke murmured, her thumb tracing Isabela's lips.

"Famished."

Hawke led her to the attached bathing chamber, their fingers lacing. "I'll reassure Bodahn that you haven't murdered me, and we'll eat. You wash, and get comfortable." She brushed Isabela's mouth with a sensual kiss. "Wine, or mead?"

"Nothing stronger?" Isabela sat on the edge of the tub and toed out of her boots, wriggling her feet with a muted groan as they touched the cold tile floor. "Shades, Hawke, if you want to impress me you'll stock my favorites."

An amused smirk danced over Hawke's face as she sauntered from the bathing room, leaving Isabela to strip her clothes off and perch on the edge of the tub. Her bronzed skin shone against the white marble, and she took a moment to admire the contrast. Pressing one hand against the runestone Sandal had enchanted, she sighed with relief as water filled the tub, steaming hot and scented like Hawke's soap. Wincing, she lowered into the heat, her aching limbs crying out with relief...how she needed this! Considering what she'd been through today, she might have shown up on Hawke's doorstep even if she _hadn't_ been expected. The Hanged Man's bathtubs were a joke compared to this... Settling back, Isabela allowed her eyes to drift shut.

"Mead," Hawke's voice announced, echoing in the bathing chamber and bringing her out of her doze. "Honeyed. Food after."

"Mmm," Isabela hummed, accepting the goblet that Hawke pressed into her fingers. "Join me?"

"I thought you'd never ask." Hawke let the robe slip to the ground. From ankle to wrist her skin was lily-white, unmarred by sun and wind, protected by the magical robes she wore while they explored the city. Hands kissed golden by the Kirkwall sun braced the edges as she lowered herself into the steaming water, settling back against Isabela.

Just being there together felt fantastic... there was almost no need for anything more, just this soft intimacy, the knowledge that the two of them were there, in each other's arms, safe and... _not that word._ Isabela curled her arms about Hawke's neck, guiding the woman's head to lay gently against her shoulder. Her lover's hair was honey-blonde, playfully curling - a bane, Hawke claimed, coveting Isabela's naturally straight hair, but Isabela thought it charming beyond belief.

She pressed a kiss to Hawke's brow, delighting to the sound of her happy sigh. From a basket near the back of the tub, she took a soft cloth and a bar of soap. Moments later she was stroking the sudsy cloth along Hawke's arms, lifting her shapely hands from the water to cleanse each long finger. Hawke had such beautiful hands, soft, and the things she could do with them...

Her shoulders came next, with Isabela lifting the blonde hair aside to soap Hawke's slender neck. Hawke tilted her head, allowing the pirate a better reach, then leaned further into her when Isabela's hands wandered.

Hawke's skin shone in the soft candlelight, gleaming with water. Her silken breasts slid beneath Isabela's touch, and Hawke shuddered as capable fingers caressed them.

What followed was slow, sensuous... two women skilled in what they did and who took pleasure in seeing their partners brought to completion. The water had cooled, toes and fingertips grown puckery when they settled against each other once more. The encounter had been utterly satisfying, moreso than either of them had suspected.

"Are you clean?" Hawke murmured, a lazy smile curving her lips.

"Squeaky," Isabela replied as she rose from the tub, slicking the water from her lithe body. She offered Hawke a hand up, and when they both stood on their feet, shin-deep in the water, Isabela leaned in to capture Hawke's lips with her own.

Isabela had wanted to bed Hawke the first moment she saw her. The woman was sassy, vibrant, with a sarcastic wit and a biting tongue. A few flirting lines, a smile - and before she'd quite realized it, months had passed. _Months,_ and Isabela hadn't felt a bit trapped, even with her ship lying in pieces on the floor of the Waking Sea. Even with Castillon breathing down her neck, and the knowledge that she might need to run any day... she ignored it, spending the time instead in getting to know this fascinating woman. This mage who walked brazenly through the gallows, who championed freedom and laughed in the faces of the men who pursued her.

Poor Anders; the fellow had been quite put out when Hawke had waved him off. And Fenris - at first, the elf had worn a quiet smirk, certain that their leader had refused Anders because _he_ was the one she preferred... but no. Varric had known, had claimed he'd known from the start. It was with no little amount of glee that he'd begged for the details.

"Come on, Rivaini..." he'd coaxed. "Hard in Hightown needs a scandal. All these years we've known each other, and suddenly you won't kiss and tell?"

"Bugger off, Varric," she'd said cheerfully, throwing back another finger of whiskey.

It had been worrisome when Hawke went into the Deep Roads... much to Isabela's displeasure, Hawke had _not_ chosen her to go along on the quest for riches, but had dragged Anders and her idiot brother along for the ride. Never had Isabela had so much trouble sleeping, though she whooped it up in fine fashion, quashing her anxiety in the only way she knew how. The regulars at the Hanged Man _still_ talked about those three weeks.

When Carver hadn't come back, Isabela had been almost relieved. Sad, certainly - Hawke and her brother _were_ family, but at least Anders had been able to get him to the Wardens in time to save his life. The poor boy had been forever making moony eyes at her. How did one tell a man that she preferred his sister over himself?

One less problem, that's all it was to Isabela.

The first thing Hawke had done after the objects were sold was reinstate herself in Hightown, throwing money around like it was water, impressing all the right people at all the right parties with all the right things to say. Isabela had even talked her way into some of those parties, though they were usually dull as dishwater and she and Hawke snuck away after making the requisite appearances. Why stand around eating canapes when there were men at the Hanged Man who would practically _hand_ you their money over the Wicked Grace table? Leandra Amell had eaten it up, however, enjoying her rediscovered riches, courtesy of her dungeon-delving daughter.

Of course, Isabela and Hawke had only been friends, then. It wasn't until later that the swaggering pirate had finally found the courage to suggest they... try something new.

Just why she'd been so nervous she had yet to figure out. It wasn't as if Isabela was a stranger to a woman's body; she'd had her share of men and women both. And as much as she enjoyed men, there was something about a woman... soft. Women were soft. Sweet, their skin like satin under her fingers, their lips so smooth. Men were rough, loud, their mouths scratchy and often tasting as foul as their body odor. What was it about men, that they didn't think they needed to _wash_?

Isabela could understand rough and loud. It was something she liked, herself - but when it came to the bedroom, she'd discovered she had a certain... preference. And it had nothing to do with the twit of a man she'd been married to. Some women simply liked women, and while Isabela hesitated to box herself in in any way, when it came to Hawke, she'd discovered she _definitely_ liked women.

That darling quirk of a smile, those glittering hazel eyes, always full of life and ribald humor. The sensuous way she held her wine glass, her sweetly curling fingers cupped beneath the bowl as she watched them at cards, sipping and chatting. The way her unruly curls never quite stayed behind her ear, but forever fell into her eyes, brushed impatiently aside as she busied herself with something. The pure excitement that poured from her at the prospect of a new adventure - it mattered little what it was, taking out the newest group of bandits in Lowtown, or sneaking a copy of _Hard in Hightown_ onto Mother Elthina's bookshelf - Hawke wanted to do it all.

And then, the sweet night, at last... was it month since then? It was, wasn't it? Isabela had actually been _sweating_, though she'd played it off with a coy smile, offering Hawke an evening without strings, a night she would never forget.

One night had become two. And then three. And now...

"You know, 'Bela, you could stay," Hawke murmured when Isabela's lips finally left hers. "You don't need to keep paying for that room at the Hanged Man. I've got more than enough home here."

Isabela froze, her muscles clenching. Stay? The scourge of two coastlines, four nations, and countless tavern floors? The reckless, restless pirate queen, quick with a joke and deadly with a blade? She'd escaped a husband who she hated, broken out of prison, slithered from more tight situations than an adder in a noblewoman's luggage. Fear - she hardly knew the meaning of the word, she'd boasted to Varric more than once, though usually while he was writing in his novel. And yet, _stay_... this one, small word, from that perfect, rose-petal mouth - this terrified her, to her core.

Isabela wasn't one who stayed. Not in one place, not in one relationship. Heart racing, she managed a tight smile, hoping she was reassuring Hawke. "But if I leave, Corff will lose the income," she said lightly. "And his only other regular tenant is Varric."

Hawke quirked a wry brow at her. "True. Corff _does_ need the income. Because Maker knows we don't spend enough at his bar." Her lover's tone said clearly that she didn't believe Isabela in the least.

"I'm a humanitarian, that's me," Isabela said. "Um, look, Hawke, I've got to go." She stepped from the tub, grabbing a small towel and rubbing it briskly over her body before scooping up her clothing once more. Regretful - she'd had a lovely bath, and was about to pull reeking clothing on over her newly perfumed skin. But if she wanted to wash the outfit, she'd need to spend the night, and in her current state of panic_ that _was out of the question. She tied the still sweat-damp kerchief over her hair, sitting on the lip of the tub to pull her boots on.

Hawke said nothing, simply climbed from the bath and retrieved the house robe from the floor, disappearing into her bedroom without a backward glance. Isabela tried not to think about the hurt that had crossed Hawke's face. Just fun, right? Just a pleasant distraction, and now it was more than time to move on. If the day's activities proved fruitful, she might make it out Kirkwall yet, and with her ass intact.

Passing through the bedroom on her way downstairs, Isabela hesitated when she saw Hawke curled within her bed, a book propped on her knees. She didn't look up, already absorbed. For some reason, a sudden bout of guilt descended upon her.

"Look, Hawke, I'm exhausted," Isabela said. "I spent the entire day chasing rumors. Castillon's getting more insistent - I need to find that relic. You understand, right?"

Hawke nodded, barely looking up from her tome. "Sure. Get some sleep - we're meeting with Aveline in the morning."

"Right, the Emeric thing, and the deaths of those women," Isabela muttered, fiddling with the dagger strapped to her hip. "I suppose lady man-hands wants us there after breakfast?"

"The earlier the better, I'd say," Hawke agreed, lifting her eyes at last. "Goodnight, Isabela."

_Isabela_... Hawke hadn't called her that in weeks. It was '_Bela_ now. For some reason, the lengthening of her name twisted the pirate woman's heart, but she merely nodded and strode from the room.

^v^v^v^v^v^

"Two days," Castillon said, his voice low and threatening. Isabela suppressed an involuntary shiver... it was the eyes. Had to be. Just _why_ this man made her react this way... but his eyes were the same as her late husband's. _I _killed_ him_, Isabela reminded herself. _I could kill this one, too, easy as breathing... but the chance at profit's too high. That's the only reason I'm letting him live. _

She tossed back the last few swallows of her ale, pealing a merry laugh from her lips. "Too easy. I'll have it."

"I like your confidence." Castillon drew a dagger from his belt, sliding the blade beneath his fingernails to remove the dirt. "You've been busy here in Kirkwall," he said. "Running around with Hawke."

Ice formed around Isabela's heart... something in his tone turned her stomach. "She pays me well," she said carelessly. "You know me, I go where the money is. Speaking of which, you'll have my cut?"

Pale eyes flicked up, spearing her with a cold glance. "Your _cut_? After your little stunt with those slaves? Isabela..." Castillon shook his head, sighing. "Your cut is your little girlfriend's life."

Sweat broke out over Isabela's palms. It had been a full week since she'd seen Hawke - after the night in the manor, she'd taken herself away, not even showing up to the meeting with Aveline. Hawke had other followers - let them handle things for once. She'd continued chasing her own leads, determined to finish her business with Castillon once and for all. But now, the rat bastard's mention of her favorite mage had her ready to run howling back to Hightown. "My little..." she chuckled, forcing an easy expression. "If you mean one of Madame Lusine's little flowers-"

"Anna... that's her name, right?" Castillon's voice had gone soft. "She's got such... pretty blonde hair. Tell me, what do you suppose Commander Meredith would say, if she knew such a talented mage was running loose in Kirkwall?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Isabela growled. "This meeting is over." She pushed to her feet, preparing to stalk out of the back-alley hole-in-the-wall. Not much could be said for the Hanged Man, but it was better than _this_ place. If she hurried, she might catch Fenris for a round of Wicked Grace.

"Then it shouldn't distress you to hear that if you fail, she dies..." Castillon called after her. Isabela could practically feel the chilling grin that spread across his face when she slowed. _Damn!_ She'd reacted. Now he had her. She turned, arranging her face in a relaxed smile.

"Look, Castillon, I'll have it." She sauntered back to the table, leaning down to give him what she knew was an impressive view. Her hands spread on the warped wooden surface as she jutted her chest forward, her eyes level with his. "And when I drop that book in your hands I fully expect you to disappear back into the hole you crawled out of. Our business concludes when I give you the relic - and whatever dirt you may think you have on me, it matters _nothing_ in the face of what I'll do to you if you come screwing with my life ever again."

"Brave wench," Castillon sneered. "Two days."

Isabela stalked from the tavern, her heart sinking in her chest. She had to find Hawke, and warn her - her contacts were good, but supposing something happened, and she _didn't_ get the relic. Better safe than sorry.

The sun had vanished over the lip of the horizon a few hours back, so if Hawke wasn't out running some kind of nasty errand, she was likely in one of two places - the Hanged Man, or her own estate. Expediency prompted her to try the manor first, and so Isabela jogged to Hightown, cutting several minutes from the journey by taking a few little-known shortcuts. She emerged from between two buildings to a shocking sight - a crowd, gathered in the central corridor, milling, talking, _lingering_. Blacks, whites and muted grays cloaked each body, the women wearing gaudy hats covered with a horror of colorless silk flowers and filmy gauze.

Isabela's brows drew down - who'd died? If this wasn't a wake then she'd wager black was the new pink. _Someone important,_ she thought, then shrugged and cut across the square, making for Hawke's front door.

"It was nightmarish," she heard one woman moaning. "Poor Leandra was - mutilated-"

"Terrible," her male companion answered. "The guard certainly needs to answer for this. If there was a serial killer loose in Kirkwall, why wasn't he caught?"

_Maker's breath!_ Isabela knew only one woman named Leandra. She sprinted through the crowd, drawing a few insulted gasps from the gentry as she shoved past their ridiculous finery. The press of bodies thickened as she approached Hawke's door, and once she'd managed to squeeze her way inside it was even worse. Well-wishers crowded everywhere, nibbling delicacies, chatting in low tones, looking around the opulent Hawke manor with shrewd eyes. As if their presence was helping anything.

"Rivaini," a familiar voice called.

"Varric! What happened?" A few quick steps brought her to the dwarf's spot near the desk where Hawke kept her correspondence. Varric shook his head, his beefy face grim.

"It was a mess. Leandra started getting lilies - just like the other women who were killed. We followed the clues to that foundry... but by the time we got there, she was gone." Varric sighed. "We got the piece of shit who killed her, though. He won't be hunting any more women. You don't know how glad I am to see you. Hawke's in her room. She won't come out, won't see anyone."

"Varric, I..." A lump rose in her throat, preventing further speech. "I should have been here."

"Yeah, you should've," the dwarf agreed, the edge of annoyance sharpening his words. "This was important, Isabela. She needed you."

"Look, I had things to do," Isabela snapped, the sour taste of her guilt turning her tongue shrewish. "I don't owe anything to Hawke."

"Decency, Rivaini, how about that? You think you might owe her that much?"

"Just... shut it, dwarf," Isabela muttered, and trudged up the stairs, heart heart pounding in her ears. Hawke's door loomed before she had time to properly formulate everything she wanted to say... what _could_ one say in a situation like this?

She didn't bother knocking, just tried the handle, and wasn't surprised to find it locked. A few twirls of her lockpicks and she was through - it was almost stupid, how flimsy the locks in Hightown were.

A gentle fire glowed in the fireplace, the only light in the otherwise dim room. Hawke - no, _Anna_ - curled into a tight ball atop the crimson coverlet, her knees tucked up to her chest. She didn't move when Isabela stepped fully into the room and closed the door behind her, locking it again to prevent disturbances.

"I... Hawke?"

No response.

Isabela tiptoed further into the room. A tiny sniffle came from the bed, and Isabela crawled across the mattress to curl herself around Anna's frame. At her touch, the mage began to shake, then turned herself over and folded herself into Isabela's embrace, choking breaths heaving from her slender frame.

Isabela swallowed, then wrapped her arms more securely around Hawke as her panting gasps turned to full-blown sobbing. Emotion... yes. Something Isabela did _not_ handle with all the grace that was usually needed.

Fortunately, Hawke seemed content to simply be held, and the two of them lay in each other's arms for the rest of the night.

^v^v^v^v^v^

The softest of touches woke Isabela, and her agate eyes drifted open to see Hawke smoothing her hair back from her forehead.

"Morning luscious," Hawke whispered.

"Early," Isabela mumbled, and pulled the pillow over her head. "Time is it?"

"Seven," Hawke answered. "I need to get up... I have to get out of here for a little while. Do you want anything?"

"mmph." Isabela slipped back into the Fade.

She awoke several hours later to discover Hawke still gone, nothing remaining of her presence but the rumpled sheets. She stretched, languid, then threw back the covers and pulled her boots back on. A quick trip to Hawke's bathroom ensured her hair was brushed and covered with her customary kerchief, and she trooped downstairs. Bodahn was dusting, and Isabela grinned when the poor man jumped at her voice.

"Where's Hawke?"

"Ah! Oh, messere. She's..." he leaned in. "You wouldn't happen to be... angry with her, are you?"

"What? Oh!" She chuckled. "No, Bodahn. All is quite well between us. Where is she? I've got to speak with her."

"I'm afraid I don't know, messere. I'm sure she'll be back soon, though."

Isabela nodded, and left the mansion. She'd traced the relic to someone local - a man named Wall-Eyed Sam. If she could only arrange a meeting... she headed to the Hanged Man to speak with Corff. If anyone could get her a location, it was the bartender of Kirkwall's infamous watering hole.

"Isabela!" Corff said when she walked in. "Someone came by. Left this for you." Corff fished beneath the bar, coming up with a creamy scroll. Isabela muttered her thanks, tossing him a coin before she unrolled the vellum, revealing just six words.

_Two days. After that, she dies._

A curl of golden hair, tied with a bit of black thread, fell into Isabela's fingers as the words brought her heart to a standstill.

_They had Hawke._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"Castillon's got her." Isabela dropped the vellum - mottled and wrinkled from her own wringing and crumpling - along with the lock of hair onto the table before her gathered companions. Her hands felt horribly chilled as she pressed them to her face. Nervous energy threaded her body - she could barely keep still, her stomach jumping with nerves. They had to _go_. They had to _do_ something. Now!

"Where d'you think she is?" Varric asked.

Isabela shrugged helplessly, anxiety carving lines into her forehead. "I've got less than no idea. I was given a meeting place for tomorrow night, and if I don't bring the relic to Castillon then, he'll kill her. That I know."

"Just what is this relic, anyhow? You've never told us," Anders commented, his arms crossing as he leaned back in Varric's plushiest chair. Fenris scowled at him from his cross-legged pose on the floor.

"It's just... a thing," Isabela hedged. "A valuable thing. I don't even know what it is, myself - just that it's in a particular box." It was_ sort_ of true - she didn't _really_ know just what the Tome of Koslun was. It was a book - some kind of tome. Religious, maybe? Who cared? People wanted it - that was the only thing that made it valuable.

"So, you say you've got a contact. We go, we get the relic, we deliver it. Hawke lives. Easy," Varric said easily. "He's not gonna harm her as long as we deliver on time."

Isabela nodded, taking comfort in these simple facts. "Who's coming?"

Anders heaved a sigh. "I suppose I should - you could get stabbed or something. And I'd probably feel bad."

"I'm in," Varric said. "Broody?"

Fenris eyed the three of them, not saying a word.

"Oh come on, handsome," Isabela teased. "Where's your sense of fun?"

"The last time you said that to me, I ended up pulling someone's heart from their chest," Fenris grumbled, but he rose to his feet. He'd shown a brief flush of warmth for Hawke when she'd rejected Anders - it was sort of funny, the natural rivalry that had sprung up between the healer and the elf - but in the past month he'd gone back to brooding and muttering distrustful things about mages.

Whatever. He swung a mean sword, and he was coming with them - that was all Isabela cared about right now.

^v^v^v^v^v^

"A book." Anders stared at the boxed bundle in Isabela's arms. "We went through all that... for a _book_."

"For Hawke. Not just for a book." Isabela dusted a bit of invisible lint from the waxed cover.

Anders shook his head, throwing her a sidelong glance. "What does she see in you, anyway?"

"Mean!" Isabela exclaimed. "What a tragically rude thing to say to a woman!"

Anders guffawed, and on his other side, Fenris wore a smirk.

"You gotta admit, Rivaini," Varric chuckled. "None of us saw this one coming. Least of all you. You and Hawke? It's nothing short of... arousing."

"Oh, shut it," Isabela grinned, cheerful enough now to joke. "You're just jealous."

The echo of metallic boots rang over the ground, and then Aveline rounded the corner followed by a score of guards.

"Isabela," Aveline called, and their group halted as the guards marched toward them. "Halt."

"Hey, big girl!" Isabela called. "Can't really talk right now - got an important errand to attend to. But I'll catch you for Wicked Grace at the Hanged Man, later?"

"I say again, halt!" Aveline's voice was sharp.

Isabela sighed loudly, tipping her head back and plopping a hand on her hip. "Fine. What now?"

Aveline held up a hand, signaling the guards into formation. "The Qunari are threatening to attack the city."

"So? They've been here for years. What makes today so special?" Isabela's eyes swept the guards. If she didn't know better, she would think Aveline might have come for _her_.

"Today," Aveline began. "The Arishok discovered that the thing he's been missing was here, in Kirkwall, all along. A book - the Tome of Koslun, a religious relic that was stolen from them years ago. Is this ringing any bells, Isabela?"

The pirate shifted under Aveline's green-eyed scrutiny. "Nope. Sorry."

"Pity. Now stop lying and give it to me."

"No." Isabela took a step back, her arms wrapping more tightly around her bundle.

"Isabela! _That's_ the Tome of Koslun?" Fenris sounded... almost horrified. "The relic - _that_'s what you've needed to get back? That's what Castillon wants?"

"He can't have it," Aveline snapped. "I need it. Now. The Arishok discovered you'd obtained it from some petty thief and he sent me to intercept it. I've got an hour before the qunari start slaughtering everyone - his words, not mine."

"So? You're the guard captain - get them out." Isabela took another step back, anticipating a fight.

Aveline laughed, but there was nothing humorous about the ill sound. "Evacuate Kirkwall? You... Give me the damned book!"

"If the Arishok wants this, he should come get it," Isabela hissed, then spun and ran - only to be grabbed by Fenris' outstretched arm. Wincing, turned back around, his hand tighter than a steel bracer.

"Castillon's got Hawke," Varric said in a soft voice. "He needs the book, or he says he'll kill her."

Aveline's already stern face darkened another shade. Her eyes pressed shut, then opened again a moment later. "I'm sorry. But you've got to give it to me."

"It's her life we're talking about!" Isabela shouted, struggling against Fenris' grasp. "You can't just - she'll _die!"_

"Everyone will die if I don't do this!" Aveline bellowed. "If Hawke were here, she'd agree with me!"

"Bitch!" Isabela snarled. "You... uptight, mannish, awkward, ball-crushing do-gooder!"

"Shut up, whore," Aveline snapped. "The book. Now."

This wasn't happening. Couldn't be. Isabela thrashed in Fenris' grip, kicking and shrieking when he wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her clear off the ground. Brief flashes of heat washed over her as Fenris grunted - his lyrium reacting to her struggles - and Aveline's hands wrestled the book from her death-tight grip.

"No," Isabela whimpered as the leather left her fingers. _"No!_"

"Move out," Aveline said, but her voice lacked its usual bluster. She strode after her soldiers, then turned back hesitantly, her shoulders caving."I'm sorry, Isabela. Truly, I-"

Her heartfelt words were cut off when Isabela spat on her boots, brown eyes blazing with fury. Aveline's mouth twisted, and she turned and marched after her troops.

"Rivaini." Varric's voice was gentle.

"Get _off me_," she bit out, shoving at Fenris. The elf let her go her after another moment, sending her stumbling with the suddenness of her release. Her high-cut tunic was twisted, rumpled to the point of showing most of her small-clothes, and she yanked the fabric down into its proper place before she gave all of Lowtown a glimpse of her inner thighs. Not that she cared, but -

One hand swept the kerchief from her head, throwing it to the ground with enough force to raise a small cloud of dust. "Damnit!" she cried. "Two-faced, priggish, nug-humping-"

"Whoa there," Varric chuckled. "Them's fightin' words."

Isabela raked fingers back through her hair, breathing hard as her mind raced through her options. It was all too short a trip - there weren't many. The only trouble now was finding Hawke before Castillon realized she'd lost the book. It was possible that she had an hour. Maybe.

Stooping, she snatched up the kerchief and unknotted it, throwing her head down to the ground to flip her hair away from her neck. With a quick, practiced motion, her deft fingers knotted the cloth in place, and she straightened, new determination glittering in her stony eyes as her hair tumbled around her shoulders. "You," she jabbed a finger at Fenris. "You're on my shit list."

"The Tome of Koslun is precious beyond belief," the elf had the temerity to argue.

"So is Anna," she snapped. "Way moreso than some musty _book_."

"Isabela-"

"Save it," she snapped. "We're going after her."

^v^v^v^v^v^

Isabela crept into the noisy warehouse, rolling her moleskin boots along the ground as she kept to the shadows. Somewhere outside, Anders, Varric and Fenris waited for her signal. Just what the signal would be, she wasn't sure - but she'd told them she'd come up with something. If all else failed, she could start screaming.

It was a slapdash plan, thrown together with next to no preparation or foreknowledge - they were rushing in, balls-to-the-wall, hoping for a miracle.

Andraste's fiery knickers, it was a miracle that they'd even _found_ the place.

Isabela's first stop had been the hole-in-the-wall tavern where she'd met Castillon previously. It took a slick bit of talking, some well-placed cleavage and finally ten sovereigns, but the bartender had eventually hinted that Castillon had friends in the shipping industry.

Well, obviously. The man sold slaves - of course he had connections to the big boats. Isabela had been tempted to cut off his useless mouth and pin it to the counter at this useless information, but Varric had thanked the idiot and steered her out of the tavern before she could do anything too bloody.

"The docks, Rivaini," he'd muttered. "There's a shipment headed out this evening - it didn't occur to me just who was moving the goods, but it's gotta be him."

"The goods - wait - you _know_ about the slaves?" Isabela had sputtered. "How-"

"I've got ears in places you don't wanna know about," the dwarf continued, hauling her along. "Right now, we need to go see one of them."

It had turned out that Lady Elegant wasn't quite as refined as she liked to pretend, and had quite the connection to Kirkwall's underbelly. Though she didn't come right out and say Castillon's name, it became clear that she and Varric were on the same wavelength... Castillon's nets were expertly woven, but they were finding the loose threads. Anders and Fenris had hung back, but Isabela had refused to let Varric do all the talking. After a few fruitless moments, more gold, and some hemming and hawing on Elegant's part, she'd finally loosened her tongue.

"Warehouse four," she'd whispered at last. "I'm supposed to deliver a flat of potions there later, in sea-worthy bottles. Don't tell me what for," she said hastily. "The less I know the better."

"Thanks, Elegant," Isabela muttered.

A graceful hand snagged her arm as she turned to go, Elegant's delicate eyes narrowing. "You're not costing me business, are you? Because that particular account is... reliable."

"Here," Isabela pulled a coin purse from her waist and shoved it into the merchant's hands. "The account is closed." Shoulders tight, she'd stalked off, gesturing to Fenris and Anders.

"Varric," Elegant had said in a warning voice.

"Don't," he'd replied as he jogged after Isabela. "You're better off forgetting that client. Trust me on this!"

Now Isabela curved her back against a weather-worn wall, edging her vision around the corner. In truth, she probably didn't need to be as stealthy as she was - there were workers aplenty, shouting instructions and rumbling heavy carts full of supplies onto a ship.

And oh, what a ship... lengthy and gorgeous, all shining wood and crisp, clean fabric. _Siren's Song _was painted onto the prow; a whimsical name for a ship, but it called to her inner sailor. How the wheel would groan under her calloused hands, the cool spray of salt dampening her hair! Wanting as thick as chocolate flooded her bones as she stared at the vessel - how long it had been since she'd felt a deck swaying under her... feet. Ships were like people. Touch them the right way, and they responded favorably.

So - now what? She watched the workers for several more minutes, listening, hoping to catch some clue as to Castillon's whereabouts. If Anna was here, in the warehouse, she'd be shocked. She doubted very much that Castillon himself were here.

_Come on,_ she thought, growing impatient as the minutes crept by. _Give me something. Give me _something!

"Not that one," the foreman called to a passing sailor. "That crate stays here. The boss's orders."

The crewman shrugged, and carted the box back into place.

Isabela recognized the foreman - Darnell, he was called. She'd worked with him a bit herself, when Castillon had paid her to make a few shipping runs. Sort of interesting to see that the same man was still running things behind-the-scenes. But then, she wasn't sure why she was surprised - Darnell had told her himself that he'd been working with Castillon for years...

A seed of an idea took root in Isabela's brain, and she dashed back out to Varric and the others.

"Varric - I need vellum!" The full sunlight blinded her momentarily, and she shut one eye to force her vision to readjust quicker than it would otherwise.

"What?"

"Shut up. Vellum, and one of your graphite pencils. And grab one of your urchins - I need a messenger boy."

Varric blinked, then dug in his pack to pull out the writing utensils. He handed them to her, then jogged off down the street to find the boy she'd requested. Isabela grabbed Fenris and spun him around, pushing him into a stoop to provide her with a flat writing surface.

"What are you-"

"Gah, your sword's in the way!" Quicker than the elf could protest, she slid the blade from its sheath and shoved it at Anders, who was too baffled to protest. Knocking Fenris forward once more, she leaned the vellum on his back, using the surface of his armor as her desk.

"Do you know what she's doing?" Fenris asked of Anders.

"I barely know what _I'm_ doing," Anders responded. "Andraste's frilly undergarments, this thing's got to weigh twenty pounds. How do you wield it?"

"With a great deal of strength," Fenris grunted, then scowled as Isabela exclaimed for him to hold still.

"There. Thanks, Fenris." She curled the vellum into a tight scroll, wishing for a bit of ribbon or string to tie it with. But maybe this was better - Castillon probably had a seal he typically used, and she could only hope the foreman wouldn't notice its lack.

"This what you need?" Varric gestured - he'd returned while she scribbled.

A lanky boy, even shorter than he, stood at the ready. "You need a message delivered?"

"Yep," Isabela said, pressing the scroll into his fingers. "In there. Give it to the foreman - if he asks who gave it to you, it came by another messenger - one who came from Castillon. You took over the errand after the first messenger was hurt. If he asks you anything else, just say you don't know - you were tagged off of the street, and all you're doing is completing an errand." She fished in her belt-pouch, coming up with a shimmering gold coin. "Payment now - when you're done, don't come looking for us. Just get yourself home."

Eyes bulging at the gold in his palm, he nodded, repeating the words back to her before slipping into the warehouse.

Isabela gestured her companions to follow her. "Now we wait." The four of them piled behind a crumbling wall, and Isabela trained her ears on the warehouse door, ignoring the sounds of the city all around them.

"Rivaini, what's going on?"

"We're finding out where Anna is, courtesy of a wooden crate," she said, her eyes glittering.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Had Isabela seen the covert glance that skimmed between Anders and Fenris, she might have missed the foreman Darnell, striding out of the warehouse and peering around with nervous eyes. The urchin had gone, fled back to wherever he'd come from, and Isabela ducked out of sight, unwilling for Darnell to catch her crouching in the shadows. The man's beefy-necked face scanned the area, and then he turned and marched back into the warehouse.

"Rivaini," Varric repeated, his tone tinging on annoyed. "Will you tell us just _what's_ in that addled brain of yours?"

Isabela sighed and threw him an impatient glare. "Castillon told the foreman not to load a specific box on the ship. I figure there's a good chance Castillon wants that crate for some reason - and the foreman knows where he lives. So... 'Castillon' just requested a special delivery."

"And we're supposed to follow him?" Anders asked, his pale eyebrows lifting. "And... you think this is a good idea?"

"What've you got, sparklefingers?"

Anders shrugged. "I just don't think it's a good idea, that's all."

"Well, I don't see any of you doing anything," Isabela muttered, turning her focus back to the warehouse. "None of you even spoke up while Aveline was prying the book from my hands. Some friends you are."

"That book belongs to the Qunari. The right thing to do was give it to Aveline," Fenris groused.

"It's a book, Fenris! We're talking about Anna here. I can't believe you think _Anna, _our _friend_, is worth less than a book." She didn't bother sparing him a glance, just studied the doors, watching for the crate.

"Anna is a mage. She belongs in the Gallows," Fenris growled.

Isabela turned a dark gaze on the white-haired warrior. "Say that to my face."

Fenris' eyes hardened, smouldering with righteous anger. "Anna Hawke is a _mage_ - unpredictable, unreliable. The very fact that she's taken up with... _you_," he sneered, "proves that she can't be trusted. Aveline was right - do you know how many people would have died, if she hadn't gotten that book away from you? All you ever think about is yourself! Has anything _ever_ mattered to you, Isabela? Or is life one grand game of chance, and this is just another all-or-nothing bet for you?"

Isabela rocked back, her bare hand striking across Fenris' tattooed face in a sharp _crack_. The elf didn't sway, only shut his eyes as his head snapped to the side with the force of Isabela's blow.

"Get out of here," Isabela snarled through clenched teeth. "I don't need you. Or you," she whipped her head toward Anders. "You talk about freedom for mages, about _justice_, and yet you did nothing to stop Aveline from stealing that book. As broody here reminded all of us, Anna's a _mage_." Fury choked her tone, her low voice contorting as she fought to keep from drawing attention to their hiding spot. "Suddenly she's not good enough for your rebellion? And you," she rounded on Varric, her eyes narrowing. "I thought you, of all of them - I thought _you_ were her friend."

"Rivaini-"

"With friends like you lot, Anna might be better off dead," she hissed, then stalked forward as the warehouse door opened, leaving her - former - companions in the shadows of the wall. She would do better without them, anyway - no one could sneak through a crowd like she could. The others would only slow her down. A painful lump filled her throat as she trailed the crate and its bearer through the city, agate eyes burning.

It was surprising when she was led to Hightown, to a posh mansion not far from Hawke's own. _Castillon can't live here,_ she thought, perplexed. And yet, the delivery boy carted the box up to the door and pulled the bell.

No time to consider - Isabela slipped into another shadow, wrapping the cool darkness around her like a cloak as she watched the messenger enter the house. _Right place,_ Isabela thought. She inspected the property for her way in. A trellis ran up one wall, wreathed with roses and looking flimsy enough to snap under a child's weight. Nope.

Isabela ghosted around the side of the manse, eyes lighting when she spotted a stairway leading down to a basement entry - a servant's passage, no doubt. She stole down the steps, her hands filled with her blades. A small part of her wondered just what she was doing, but mostly, she was living in the moment, making it up as she went.

Her first victim was more surprised than afraid. "Hey, you're not supposed to be-"

Isabela's blade slashed across the servant's throat, dropping the poor man with a liquid gurgle. If she had to kill everyone who got in her way, she'd happily leave a trail of bodies across Kirkwall. Saving Anna was paramount, and she'd be damned if anyone was going to stand in her way.

^v^v^v^v^v^

"Just get out," Castillon snapped, staring at the note in his hand. The delivery boy fled, probably terrified of being blamed for something completely beyond his control. Isabela brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, watching from the balcony above in the safety of the shadows. Behind her former employer was a door - a door she was certain led to her heart's desire.

"I don't understand," Castillon continued, his fluid voice puzzled. "Darnell should know this wasn't my handwriting."

"And it's not mine," his companion said in a syrupy Orlesian accent. "Though I suppose you needed the box anyway?"

"That is hardly the point," Castillon replied. The note crumpled in his fist, his eyes wary. "Guillaume, you have guards at each entrance, yes?"

"Of course. Though Dulci pesters me about the expense." The man paused, then his eyes widened. "You fear a breach?"

"You take the south entrances, and I shall take the north," Castillon ordered, and the two of them stalked from the room. Isabela scowled - she had minutes now. Seconds, possibly, when they found the bodies she'd left on the stair. Follow Castillon and kill him, or slip through the door and hopefully find Anna on the other side?

With a last, longing glance at the door, she vaulted over the balcony, landing in a graceful tumble and rolling to her feet. As much as she wanted to grab Anna and run for it, it was unlikely the two of them could make it past Castillon and his companion, not once they realized they'd been invaded by a murderous pirate. Cat-light, she stalked after Castillon, determined to gut him before he'd taken another ten steps.

If it weren't for the housecat that spotted her and hissed, she might have managed it, too.

Castillon's head whipped backward at the sound, eyes widening in shock. "Isabela!"

_Shit!_ she thought, her plans changing in an instant. "Miss me, boss?" Isabela sashayed forward with what she hoped was a confident expression, cocking one hand on a hip. "You've got something that belongs to me. And I've come to get it back."

Ice-cold eyes stared in amusement, the surprise fading as quickly as it had bloomed. "You owe me a book."

"Plans change, little man. The Arishok had a better offer."

"Bullshit," Castillon spat. "You lost it. Again."

"I _might_ be willing to cut you in on my profits," Isabela continued, mind racing. "That is, if you give me the girl."

A bright laugh fell from Castillon's lips, his frightening eyes raking her body with casual disdain. "The value of that relic is greater than you can possibly imagine... I doubt you have close to the coin you would need to buy your way back into my favor."

"Then I guess I'll have to kill you," Isabela said with a sigh. "Pity." Her hand flicked forward, a dagger slicing through the air-

-to bury itself in the doorframe behind Castillon's head. Isabela ground her teeth in irritation, wishing the ass wasn't so _fast_; he'd ducked out of the way almost casually. And it would have been so _wicked_ to have killed him that quickly.

Castillon raised a hand, snapping his fingers. A score of armed thugs unfolded from the woodwork, slipping out of hidden niches and from around corners.

Isabela's heart sank... she was so outnumbered, it was stupid.

_Go down fighting_, she thought recklessly. _Don't let the bastards see you blink._

Giving a rakish laugh, she moved into a fighting stance and twirled her daggers. "Let's see, so there's at least twenty of you, and one of me... what's a poor girl to do?"

The men grinned at each other, creeping forward like mist over the farmlands of Ferelden.

"Not to worry. I can take you," Isabela continued airily, backing up a pace as they closed in.

Quiet snickering rippled along the line of attackers, their eyes growing menacing as the distance grew less and less. Perspiration broke out over Isabela's palms, the hilts of her daggers slipping in her grasp. A tremble swept over her, but she kept the same roguish visage, refusing to let them see her sweat. _I'm sorry, Anna,_ she thought, regretting the rash decisions that had put her in this impossible situation. Anyone else would have handled it better - anyone else would have succeeded. Anyone else, who wasn't Isabela.

"Well, come on then," she goaded, figuring she had nothing left to lose. "Who dies first?"

"Pretty big talk for a lone woman," one of them sneered.

"She isn't alone," a feminine voice slurred, and enchanted bolts of lightning danced from body to body, Castillon's men howling in pain as they were electrocuted.

"Anna?" Isabela gasped, her head spinning toward the door. Against the jamb leaned the woman she loved, her golden hair disheveled, dark circles shadowing her expressive eyes. The skin of her wrists was an angry crimson, rubbed raw - _rope burn_, Isabela thought, and from the corners of her mouth, reddened creases showed._ Bound and gagged, then - likely smited, as well. Amazing she managed that spell at all_. A fury Isabela had never known welled from her core, filling her with ironclad determination .

"Behind you," Anna gritted, her voice weak as she hugged the door frame.

Thus warned, Isabela spun, sinking her blade into the neck of the closest attacker. The man grunted, choking on his own blood, and she planted a boot in his gut to shove him off into two more. They collapsed in a sprawling heap, their jerkins catching fire with the blaze of Anna's next spell.

The lightning had done its job, having downed three-quarters of Castillon's thugs. From the back, Castillon shouted instructions, cursing and urging his men to their feet once more. Two who had been near the back rushed her, and Isabela dove away, rolling back to her feet in a slick tumble. It bought her the second she needed to drive her blade through the closest one's gut, giving a lethal twist. A pained moan fell from the poor sod's lips, and Isabela pulled him in front of her, feeling the life go out of his body in a heavy slump.

"You know what you need?" the other sneered as they pivoted. Isabela tightened her grip on the dead man, using him as a shield. Her remaining attacker growled, growing frustrated with their cat-and-mouse dance.

"What?"

"A good _fucking_," the bastard hissed.

Isabela guffawed, unimpressed with his crudity. "And I suppose you're the one to give it to me?"

"Come and find out," he leered, and with the speed of a demon, Isabela whirled from under the body, letting it _thud_ to the ground as she slashed a new smile into the fool's exposed neck.

"Pity," she said coolly. "Looks like you're too _dead _to be having _anyone_."

"Pirate bitch," Castillon said in low, threatening tones, then shouted at the top of his lungs. "Guillaume! _Get in here!_"

Isabela leapt into action, dancing along the staggering line of men who were only just finding their feet again. Her blades flashed, slicing through leather and finding the weak spots in their plate. She'd gutted another three before anyone threatened her, and the toe of her boot bloodied the nose of the first who came close to rising. It took mere seconds before she was surrounded once more, the remaining twelve having regained their feet and begun backing her against the wall.

"Could use some help, Anna love!" she called, fending off a few badly-placed blows. Her gaze swept toward the mage, but Anna was engaged in her own battle, having snatched a decorative sword off the wall to defend herself with - not all that skillfully, but well enough to keep herself alive.

The telltale _thunk_ of a crossbow, and a single bolt whistled past her head, slamming into the wall at the back of the room with an explosion of splinters.

"Maker!" Isabela gasped. Too close for comfort. There were archers now? Her newly-brightened confidence in their chances dimmed in a heartbeat.

But when the sound came again, the bolts bloomed in the bodies of her aggressors - and not herself.

"What in the name of Andraste's maker-damned ass is going on?!" Castillon roared.

"Nothing a few arrows won't cure," a familiar voice grunted, and Isabela's heart sang.

"Varric, you son-of-a-bitch!" she crowed, renewed spunk flooding her. "You showed up!"

"Can't let you have all the fun," he called back, releasing another flurry of bolts. From the top of the balcony came streaks of fire, and then over the banister tumbled Fenris, his great bastard sword making short work of the ones Varric and Anders missed.

Just like that, it was over - except for Castillon. His noble companion had rushed into the room, taken one look and rushed back out again -_ So much for loyalty_, Isabela thought with an inner chuckle.

"So. About that deal we were making," Isabela drawled. "The one where you give me your ship, and I let your sorry ass live." She sauntered toward him with a triumphant smirk.

"Siren's Song..." Castillon considered. "You'd take that broken down tub, in exchange for my life?"

"Well, if you'd rather die," Isabela said carelessly, then leapt forward to slide her blade against his throat.

"All right!" Castillon shouted, his icy eyes flashing with rage. "Take the damned ship. I want a guarantee that I'll get out of Kirkwall alive."

"Oh, I'll guarantee it," Aveline's low voice said. Isabela's eyes flew wide, darting to the back of the room where Aveline stood with her hands clasped behind her back, a hard look on her face. Her guards flowed in around her, clapping an incredulous Castillon into irons.

"Man-hands!" Isabela cried. "Never thought I'd be glad to see you."

"I got a tip that the man behind the slaving ring could be found here," Aveline said. "I might have known you'd show up as well. Can't seem to keep your nose clean, can you?"

"Prig."

"Slattern."

"'Bela," Anna's voice mumbled, and Isabela forgot everything else. The bodies littering the floor became nothing more than obstacles, just things in her way as she skirted across the room to pull Anna -_ her_ Anna - into her arms.

^v^v^v^v^v^

"Let's just get out of here," Isabela said, lacing her fingers into Anna's. "Leave Kirkwall. Anywhere you want to go - say the word, and it's yours. We could sail up and down the coast, winter in Antiva, spend the summer in Orlais. I'll show you the _world_."

The two of them were curled into Anna's bed, freshly bathed and having finished the enormous dinner Bodahn had carted up the stairs for them. Anna had shut out the rest of their companions, assuring them that she was fine and they would all hear the entire story in the morning. Varric, to their surprise, had assisted, herding everyone away to Maker only knew where - probably with the promise of some lecherous tale, no doubt involving the two of them. The kind of ideas that some people had about women. It was laughable.

"I don't know, 'Bela," Anna murmured, studying the bedspread. "I've got commitments here in Kirkwall. I just got the estate back, and the Viscount's gotten rather fond of me."

"He can suck it," Isabela grinned. "Let him find a new hero."

"If either of us is a hero, it's you," Anna's eyes rose to lock with Isabela's, her voice softening. "I can't thank you enough for coming for me."

Isabela brushed a strand of hair from Anna's cheek. "What else would I do, silly girl?"

"Oh, I don't know," Anna sighed. "Take up with some other foolish woman, maybe even another one who's silly enough to think that maybe we-"

She was cut off by the warm press of Isabela's lips, a sigh echoing between them as the kiss deepened. Isabela slid her hand through Anna's hair, caressing the nape of her neck as their tongues twined together. Her other hand rose to cradle Anna's cheek, and Anna's hand lifted to clasp Isabela's.

The moment drew out, and then the pirate brushed her lover's nose with her own, closing their hands together. "I'm going to tell you something I've never said to another, Anna Hawke. So listen, and listen good."

"Really," Anna whispered. The pure bliss on her face melted Isabela's heart, her wide green eyes as lazy as a cat's, a blissful smile teasing the corners of her mouth. "Is it that you love me?"

"See, now you've ruined it," Isabela complained, affecting a pout. "I had this great speech planned, and you just - ugh! You always do this, you know. You're such a brat. Stealing my thunder, once again." She huffed a sigh, and this time it was Anna who cut her off with another kiss.

A delicious tingle flooded Isabela as the realization of what was occurring sank in to the fullest. This was the closest she'd come to any kind of commitment - ever. Even a hint of forever sent her running for the hills - Varric could detail the string of lovers she'd left in the dust. But rather than being scared, she found the feeling... comforting. Warming. Like she'd come home, in from the cold, to be gathered into arms more precious than any she might find anywhere else. She would never, _ever_ leave - and Anna would never make her stay. It was the weird, strange way of it; she was willingly caging herself, because she knew the key was always right there should she need it.

"I love you too," Anna whispered, her forehead leaning against Isabela's. "I don't care what we do now - as long as we're together. If you want to leave Kirkwall, I'll go with you - if you want to stay here, or at that disgusting room at the Hanged Man-"

"Corff needs the income," Isabela insisted.

"Sure he does."

* * *

_:-D _

_I hope you've enjoyed this! I've had a few people ask me if I plan to continue Isabela and Hawke, beyond this story - the easy answer is no, but who can really tell? If I do release another short of them in the future, it will be as its own story once again. These two stole my heart, and I thank WhatComesToMind for asking me to write it. :-D It was pure pleasure, and Isabela really spoke up throughout and helped me tell the story she wanted to be told._

_And now, leave me a review, please? :-D _


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